(Author’s Note: Wahoo! Another week! For those who wrote related to my photo last week, I will be dropping comments this week. Thank you for all the creativity, and I cannot wait to actually respond properly. As for me…here’s this week’s work!)
(Author’s note: Still in a splint. Things acting up, but I’ll be fine. 84 calendar days until I end my working career in Korea. As for today’s fictioneers, I originally was going to go with “Stuck In A Closet With Vanna White”, but I felt like something…more. Enjoy today’s fictioneers! )
Desiree and Mike had been picked by lottery to end up in the closet. Mike was fully sober, but had been intoxicated by something much stronger than booze.
And he could not see anything.
“Mike…keep going.”
Hot and heavy it was, heightened by Air Supply on the portable radio beside them.
“Desi, my finger…it’s stuck.”
Everything stopped, except for the guitars in the song.
“That’s my bra, Mike. Take it off.”
Another moment of slight movement, and a sudden shift of things crashed down, including a clang.
“Mike?”
She felt around, finding a clock beside Mike’s head.
Author’s note: Busy as per usual. Lots of worries. Here’s to hoping the next week will be much better, especially with a day off on Friday for medical tests. Enjoy today’s selection:
I remember the day that Travis was called to duty. It was going to be a 6 month tour in Jordan.
He looked at me, a lowly young lady from the wrong side of the tracks, and gave me the most heartfelt kiss that a fiancee could give.
We stood by an old stump as we said our goodbyes. I told him, “I don’t care how you get back here, just get back here if you can.”
He was returning from Jordan as the frost on the fields was slowly retreating. I would never see him again, though.
His C-130 got caught in a downdraft, and crashed at the base. No survivors.
He did get back here, I just can’t hold him anymore.
– From the diary of Charlene MacGinnis
(Story behind the song: During the first Gulf War, the song “Get Here” by Oleta Adams, a remake of a similar song by Brenda Russell, was often played as a call to servicemen from their wives and kids.)
Tina Greene looked out from the cliffside at the ocean’s tantrum. She felt the winds as they blew sea spray into her face. The sea and the spray were very well reflective of her current situation and mood.
She was in the center of a storm in her heart, and the center of a storm in her life.
Her heart felt like it was ripped out of her chest, the crimson effluence pounding out what was left of the life she used to have with her husband, or rather, her former husband. The initial rip came from the delivery of the divorce papers at the summer cottage that they once shared, the site where Tina was currently staying. As she kept reading the papers, she noticed that he left her many things that would keep her pacified, but that the majority of what they made together would be left in his care.
Including their 12-year old daughter, Karin.
A fact that, upon reading, caused her to weep bitterly for hours.
She didn’t care about the summer cottage, or the 1.2 million in money that her husband was willing to part with. She didn’t even care about the half of the pension money her husband would have to give up after he retired. None of that mattered to her, none of it was important.
Her daughter was the most important person in her life at that moment in time, and there was no way she could fight her husband to get full custody. She would lose Karin forever.
It broke her heart.
She looked upon the seas again, seeing the swirling waves crash against the rocks below. She spotted a small dinghy as it crashed into the jetty a little ways off. The cracking and breaking of the wooden hull made a cacophonous echo that reverberated through Tina’s ears.
She looked down at the papers in her hand, the divorce papers that she long agonized over. As she sighed and shook her head, she pulled the pen out of her skirt pocket and signed the bottom. Putting them back into the envelope, she turned and walked away from the cliff, back towards the summer cottage which would now serve as her permanent home. Her new home.
She slowly walked to the back door, taking what old men called a “widow’s walk”, the walk of someone who lost someone or something very important and dear. While she didn’t lose a physical person to death, divorce was just as bad as widowhood.
And it would be something Tina would have to feel for a long long time.
– A tribute to all parents who ended up in divorce, and what they have had to go through in those times.
Music and Fiction 